


The Hardest Call

by QueensJenn



Series: Always [1]
Category: Ylvis
Genre: Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Gen, major angst, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-08 07:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueensJenn/pseuds/QueensJenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've only ever once cancelled a show. The night Bård ended up in the hospital after puking blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ***WARNING: References to disordered eating and the physical and mental consequences, both on the sufferer and the bystanders. Read at your own risk***
> 
> *I am also inexperienced with first-hand knowledge of these sorts of things, so if I make a mistake, I apologize in advance, it was certainly not done out of malicious ignorance.*

If there was one good decision they’d made about doing the talk show during the day and the stage show at night, it’s that they didn’t try to do both on the same day.

Filming on Monday. Flight on Wednesday. Show on Thursday (and Friday, and Saturday sometimes). Fly back on Sunday, and begin again.

Vegard won’t say it’s exhausting; that implies a certain negative connotation, and there isn’t. He loves what he does, after all - he chose this life, he worked for it, wanted it with every fibre of his being since the moment he first stepped on stage. He thrives on work, he needs it, needs to have something to do, to work on, to look forward to.

Even still, he’s glad that the planning meetings end early on Wednesdays.

Bård’s been at it again. He can tell, because he’d come up with no less than three sketches that involve various stages of nudity. That’s the thing with Bård - the more willing he is to take off his clothes, the worse he is. It’s something that Vegard figured out very early on, and though he keeps hoping he’s wrong, the other signs are all there - he’s tired, and pale, and his hair is stringy and limp.

(And he thinks he should have seen them sooner, but Bård is so damn good at hiding it; well why shouldn’t he be? He’s had years of practice.)

If he’s honest with himself, he can admit that he’s been in denial, too, but fuck, who can blame him? There is something so very fucked up about knowing that your little brother is systematically making himself puke, is it really so unreasonable that Vegard might want to put his head down and only concentrate on one thing at a time? Such as the multiple obligations they’re trying to juggle?

There’s a vague, nibbling sense of shame in his stomach, the little voice in his head whispering your _priorities are fucked up_ but he can’t think about that right now, there’s too much going on, they can’t just drop everything, they can deal with this when the performance is finished. The most he can do right now is just keep an eye on him and try to get him to eat something at least once every 24 hours.

(He ignores the other little voice, the one that wails _fucking hell, why is it always on me?_ , squashes it with an intensity he didn’t know he possessed).

Bård isn’t in his office when Vegard goes looking for him, half an hour after the meeting ends. They have a few hours until they have to catch their plane and these are the worst ones; too short to actually get anything accomplished, yet long enough to be boring.

Bård isn’t in his office. Not that Vegard expected him to be there. There’s only one washroom in the office building, a public one with seven stalls that’s open to everyone.

(He would never have approved any building that had private toilets. No matter how otherwise nice it was.)

Fuck. If he’s not in his office, then he’s at home, and that means...

Fuck.

 _Calm down_ , he thinks as he makes the short drive over. _You don’t know for sure, you could be completely overreacting, you could walk in there and he’ll laugh at you, and then yell at you because you’re being a mother hen again and you know how much he hates that..._

Let it never be said that Vegard is not an eternal optimist. Even if he knows it’s completely hopeless.

Bård has two modes when he’s like this: either he won’t eat at all, or he’ll snack on everything and bring it all up later. Most times it’s a mix of the two, and Vegard could kick himself for not realizing earlier: Bård had refused just about everything he was offered when they were away, but during the meetings and the tapings the last few days, he’d been eating all the time.

(Or maybe he did notice and was trying not to; taping days are very rigorous after all, and there’s no delays allowed; you either ate something or you passed out, and if you pass out and cause delays the bosses get plenty pissed and words like _contract_ and _renegotiation_ come up, Bård knows this)

The door is unlocked when Vegard arrives, which means one of two things: either Bård was in such a rush to get in that he didn’t have time to lock the door, or...

Or he _wants_ to be found.

“Bård,” Vegard calls out, opening the door. “Hey, are you here?”

No answer. He moves cautiously through the house. He has a feeling he knows where to find his brother.

“Are you just about ready to go?” he asks conversationally. It’s better not to spook him. “Hanne said she saw you leaving, did you just forget something here?”

The bedroom door is half-open, the room half-shrouded in darkness. There’s a light in the bathroom.

“Can I come in?” he asks at the threshold to the bedroom.

No answer.

“We should get a move on,” he continues, talking normally. “You know how slow they are at that airport, and if we miss the plane, I’m not sure I can rent one on such short notice. I know how much you love flying with me.”

He listens carefully, and then hears it. A small sob.

“Bård?” He pauses again at the bathroom door. “Can I come in?”

“No.” And then the sound he’s been most fearing. Retching and something hitting the water.

“Are you sure I can’t come in?” he asks, more gently this time.

His only answer is another sob. He doesn’t ask again.

Bård is sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, staring at nothing. He looks away when Vegard enters, unable to meet his eyes.

Vegard sighs, at a loss for what to say. It’s funny, he thinks. After all this time, you’d think you would know the perfect words to make it better, but he never does. He never does.

And then he notices how fast and shallow Bård’s breathing is. Like he’s trying not to cry, and that’s what scared Vegard, because Bård never cries when he does this shit. He gets angry, and defensive and defiant, but he doesn’t cry.

“Are you...almost done?” he asks at last, as if he was asking about an outstanding piece of work or a book or something.

“I don’t know,” Bård whispers.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I...I...get out of here! Go!”

“No!”

“Please...” and then he lunges forward and gags. Vegard looks away, not because he’s squeamish but because he can’t bear to see the look on his face. Most people look miserable when they’re sick. Bård looks _serene_.

“Stop it,” he says when Bård sits back, wiping his mouth, eyes streaming, but perfectly calm. Fucking _relaxed_. “Stop it now. That’s enough.”

“I can’t,” Bård says.

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“Can’t,” Bård says again, a smile playing at his lips.

“You took something,” Vegard says slowly as he begins to understand. “Something to make you throw up. _Fucking hell,_ Bård! Can’t you just stick your finger down your throat and be done with it?”

“Can’t,” Bård slurs again. “That hasn’t worked in years.” He giggles. “Too bad m’not gay...I’d be _awesome_ at deep throat.” He giggles again, and Vegard’s heart nearly stops.

“What’s that on your teeth?” he asks.

“What?”

“Bård your teeth are fucking red, what the fuck is going on?” Even though he knows, oh god, he knows what it is.

“Huh?” Bård lifts a hand to his mouth. “Oh. Dunno.”

“What did you take? _Tell me!_ Let me see your mouth, maybe you bit your tongue...”

Bård pulls away from him when he kneels down, but he roughly grabs his arm. The time for being gentle is past. “Open up.”

Bård clamps his mouth shut. Vegard swears and reaches for the pressure point at Bård’s jaw. His mouth snaps open and Vegard swears again because yes that is clearly blood and no he’s not bleeding from his tongue or cheeks which means...

Bård chokes, pushes him aside, and heaves again. There’s nothing in his stomach, and all he brings up is bile.

Bile, spotted with bright red blood. Vegard thinks he might be sick himself.

“You have to go to the hospital,” he says, and he can’t believe how calm his voice is, because inside he’s screaming.

“No way,” Bård answers. “No.”

“Yes,” Vegard says.

“The plane!” Bård says insistently. “We’re going to be late.”

Oh, goddamit fuck he’d forgotten about the show tonight. “Well if we go now, then you’ll have time to get checked out before the flight,” he lies smoothly. Maybe it isn’t a lie. Maybe.

“No,” Bård says again. “I’ll see about it when I get back.”

“Bård you just vomited blood! You are going to the fucking hospital whether I have to knock you out myself!” There’s a note of hysteria in his voice and he thinks for one awful second that he might start crying, so he forces himself to get himself under control. Don’t panic. The situation is lost if you panic.

Besides, Bård is looking up at him with those big blue eyes, watery and vacant.

“Either you come with me, or you go in an ambulance, but either way you’re going,” Vegard says, his voice quiet again. Bård looks away, then stands up.

“What did you take?” Vegard asks again. Bård points wordlessly at the bottle lying on the vanity counter. Syrup of Ipecac, and there’s a worrying amount gone.

“Bård,” Vegard asks, his voice tight. “Have you been taking this over a few nights, or all at once?”

No answer.

_“Bård!”_

“A few nights,” he mumbles. “Fuck, I’m not stupid, Vegard.”

Wisely, Vegard chooses not to comment on that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be longer than I thought. I've updated the chapter numbers to reflect that.

It’s amazing how fast you can be seen in a busy city hospital when you tell them your brother is vomiting blood. The triage nurse hears their story, looks at Bård, then leads them directly into a quiet examination room. 

 

Bård won’t look at him.

 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Vegard tries, because he doesn’t know what else to say. It’s one thing to be frustrated and annoyed when you’re at home, but seeing his little brother lying there silently on the bed, knowing that he could have something very seriously wrong with him - hell, he could even be _dying_ - 

 

“Bård,” Vegard tries again. But Bård just looks away. Fortunately, they’re saved from any more awkward conversation as a doctor and nurse stride in, restrained urgency in their movements. 

“Okay, I understand you’ve been vomiting blood,” the doctor, Dr. Stein, begins. “I need you to tell me everything that happened.” 

 

Bård looks away again. “I don’t know,” he says. “I was puking, and then there was blood. I didn’t even feel it. My brother brought me in.” 

 

Dr. Stein looks toward Vegard. “Do you know what’s going on?”

 

Ah, fuck! He can’t tell them the truth, Bård would never forgive him. But he’s never been good at thinking on his feet, and he realizes he must have delayed too long, because the doctor gives him an expectant look.

 

“Food poisoning!” Vegard says at last. “Yeah, we had - we had fish, the other night. And, uh - he said his tasted a little weird, and then he didn’t show up to work, and uh - I went to his house and he was still puking, and there was blood in it, and --”

 

Bård had gone very pale, and his breathing is fast. He tugs at Vegard’s sleeve with a look of panic on his face. Vegard knows exactly what’s going to happen, and thankfully so does the nurse because she smoothly puts an emesis basin in his hands. Bård retches and sure enough, the tiny amount he manages to bring up has a distinct reddish tinge.

 

The doctor takes a basin, and with the nurse examines the content with an intensity that makes Vegard a bit nauseous himself. He looks down at Bård, who is looking at his hands, an unreadable expression on his face. 

 

“We’re going to draw some blood,” the doctor says, coming back over to the bed, “and I’m going to prescribe an IV anti-emetic to stop you from throwing up again.”

 

“And then I can go, right?” Bård asks hopefully.

 

“No, I’m sorry. The good news is that, looking at what you produced just now, I’m going to say that it probably isn’t serious. If you’ve been vomiting repeatedly, what can happen is that the mucosal layer of the esophagus can develop small tears, which then bleed.”

 

Vegard swallows, putting his hand on Bård’s shoulder. To his surprise (and worry), Bård doesn’t shake it off. “Is it bad?” he asks.

 

“Well, that depends. If left untreated, it can cause serious blood-loss. But simply examining you, and taking your history, I don’t believe this is the case. All the same, I’m going to have to perform a small procedure, just to be safe.”

 

“What kind of procedure?” 

 

“It’s called an endoscopy. I’ll stick a small camera down your throat to look for any sources of the bleeding. If I find any tears, I’ll be able to cauterize them at the same time. You’ll be sedated for this, please don’t worry. It shouldn’t hurt at all.”

 

“No,” Bård says dully.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“No, I can’t do that. I have a plane to catch.”

 

“We’ll reschedule,” Vegard steps in smoothly. “It’s no problem. I’m sure there’ll still be tickets available for tomorrow, and if not, we can rent a plane. You like that, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah...”

 

“Then just sit back and let the doctor do the thing.”

 

Bård nods, then looks away. “Okay.”

 

“Good. That’s good, Bård. I’ll just be waiting out here when you’re done, okay? To take you home.”

 

“Okay.” 

 

Vegard nods to the doctor, then follows the nurse out to the waiting room. Then he sits down on the hard plastic chair, closes his eyes, and sighs. 

 

There’s a million questions he wants to ask, to scream, but now’s not the time. He’s shaking, and he thinks he might be sick himself, and he forces himself to just stop and try to concentrate on one thing at a time. 

 

Bård: being taken care of.

 

The flight: missed.

 

The show: ...fuck. 

 

He mentally calculates the times. Bård should be finished soon, and he’d probably have to stick around for a little while, to make sure everything’s okay. The show isn’t until tomorrow night, 8:00, and they should be able to get plane tickets on short notice, and if not, there are other ways. The question remains if Bård will be up to it; if the procedure will make him hoarse, but even so, it’s not like he’s never performed with a sore throat before. It’s going to be tight, but they can do this.

 

( _Can we?_ the voice in the back of his head asks, the one he desperately tries to shut up, because in the end he knows it’s right. _This is more than a sore throat, this is more than food poisoning, this has been going on for_ years _and_ years _and it’s only going to get worse if you don’t_ do _something_ )

 

He opens his eyes when he senses someone standing in front of him: Dr Stein, and he has a serious expression on his face. He sits down on the chair next to him.

 

“Bård?” Vegard asks, his heart pounding.

 

“Your brother is fine,” the doctor says soothingly. “Just as I thought, a small tear. I cauterized it. He’s resting now, while the sedative wears off.”

 

“Good,” Vegard says, feelign his breathing go back to normal. “Is he going to be released soon, or...”

 

“Well, that’s the thing. His bloodwork came back, and he’s dehydrated, and his electrolytes are out of balance. I’m going to admit him overnight just for observation.”

 

He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t object, but this is going to put a wrench in their plans, and Bård won’t be happy about it either.

 

Dr. Stein leans in. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me about your brother?”

 

Vegard licks his lips. “Like what?”

 

“Well...like why he was vomiting so hard, or so much, that he tore his esophagus.”

 

He swallows. “I told you. It was food poisoning. Bad -- bad fish, or something. We travel around a lot, we’re eating at dodgy little restaurants and airports, it could have been anything, right?” He knows he’s babbling and that it’s going to give him away if he doesn’t shut up right now.

 

“I suppose,” the doctor says, and the look on his face says that he doesn’t believe him at all.

 

“But he’s going to be okay, right?” Vegard asks. 

 

Dr. Stein nods slowly. “Yes. The damage was repaired.” He shuffles his feet, then looks directly at him. “Look. I’m not going to pry, but I think we both know that it wasn’t the fish.”

 

“N-no, it was...” Vegard protests weakly. It’s all coming crashing down.

 

“How long has this been happening?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Dr. Stein sighs. “Okay. I can’t force you to talk to me, and I can’t keep your brother here longer than over night.”

 

“That’s good.”

 

“But if you like, I can have someone come and talk to your brother. Someone who has experience with these kinds of things.”

 

“A crazy-doctor.”

 

“She would be from the psych ward, yes. But that doesn’t mean that he would be admitted, or even that he’s ‘crazy’, as you put it. He wouldn’t even have to know you requested it. It’s just a way to gather resources.”

 

Vegard looks straight ahead, and doesn’t know what to say. 

 

~~~

 

Bård is lying on his side with his eyes closed when Vegard enters the room. 

 

“Hey,” Vegard says awkwardly, and Bård looks up at him.

 

“How are you doing?”

 

Bård shrugs, then points at his throat, indicating that it hurts to talk. 

 

“Okay, well...” Vegard looks at the doctor. “Is there anything we should know?”

 

“Well, I’m admitting him overnight, for one. He needs to rest - minimal talking, soft foods only, no vomiting - I’ve given him an anti-emetic to help with that.”

 

Vegard bites his lip. Minimal talking -- for how long? 

 

Bård is nearly asleep again, and Vegard wonders how much he’d heard. Does he know he’s going to be here overnight?

 

 _And what about the show?_ the little voice inside him whispers, the one he wants to push away but can’t. 

 

“You should probably go,” Dr. Stein says, giving him a meaningful look. “You can come back tomorrow around 11. He should be ready to be discharged by then.”

 

Vegard nods, then crouches down so he’s face level with Bård.

 

“Hey.”

 

Bård lazily opens his eyes. They’re cloudy, and it’s clear he’s not all there.

 

“I’m gonna get going now. Be good, okay? Listen to the doctors and nurses.”

 

Bård blinks slowly, then frowns. “You’re not staying?” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

 

“I can’t,” Vegard lies, because he’s sure he could if he really insisted. “It’s against the rules.” 

 

The look on Bård’s face is almost more than he can bear, and he looks away before his resolve crumbles. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” he continues, guilt wearing every word down. And then he leaves without waiting for a reply, because in the end, all he is is a coward. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning: In-depth discussion of an eating disorder, and also negative reactions and able-ist (? Not sure if that's he word I'm looking for) language. Could be triggering. Take care, folkens*

The guilt is a tiny ember in his chest as Vegard drives away from the hospital, and by the time he gets home it’s become a raging, fiery inferno, made worse by the fact that he shouldn’t be feeling the way he is. It’s wrong, it’s cruel, it’s evil --

 

And the knowledge that he lied to his brother -- 

 

And the fact that they’re going to have to cancel the show. 

 

It was something he’d known as soon as they gotten to the hospital. Bård is in no condition to perform: not physically, anyway. And hell, maybe not any other way. Who the fuck knows what goes on in his head.

 

The guilt only grows as he looks at his phone and knows what he has to do. Call Theo. Tell him what happened. Lie again. Disappoint the few hundred or so people who were expecting a show and a nice evening out tomorrow night. Lose a chunk of profits. Piss off the theatre. Take a hit to their professional reputation.

 

His hand shakes as he picks up the phone, and then puts it down again. Maybe they don’t have to. It’s not like Bård has never performed while sick before; he does it all the time. He always has; he’s always pushed himself harder than was probably necessary.

 

(A certain headstand on the edge of a stage comes to mind, but for once the memory can’t trigger even a smile.)

 

It’s not like Bård didn’t get himself into this mess.

 

(And he recoils with a surge of nausea at the thought, trying to remind himself that _it’s_

 _not his fault it’s not his fault_ and the darker, evil part of his mind answering _yes it is, yes it is)_

 

He’s so fucking angry at Bård he can barely think. 

 

The selfish _shit!_ Bad enough that this crap had started at all. Bad enough that it had gone on through their Norges Herligste days (and how many times had Vegard had to cover for him then?) and the third stage show (hadn’t there been a few whispers then) and those stupid fucking game shows (god, hadn’t it been obvious?)

 

And now they finally have real success, and he’s still _doing it_ and it’s all going to come apart, because of this stupid fucking _shit_ that’s gone on too long. 

 

Vegard looks at the phone in his hand. He rehearses what he’s going to say. Bård’s been admitted to hospital. Food poisoning. Bad fish. He’s not going to be able to perform. He’s not doing too well at the moment.

 

And suddenly he’s just so _tired._ How long have they been dealing with this? When does it end?

 

(No, he won’t think about that, he can’t think about that, because he knows how this is going to end, unless he does something about it but he can’t do something about it because how do you fight an enemy you _can’t even understand_ )

 

And he hates himself for being angry, the treacherous voice in him that wants to _blame_ Bård for this. As though he enjoys it. Anyone can see he doesn’t: Vegard can barely stand to look at their old press pictures. Why can’t anyone else see it?

 

As though he’s doing it for attention. Hardly. It’s the last thing he wants; there are days when he locks himself in his house and won’t answer his phone because he needs to be alone, he _needs_ it and even _Vegard’s_ presence is too much for him to bear. 

 

(And yet oddly enough, that’s when Vegard worries about him the least. It’s when he starts wanting to be seen - when he starts taking off his clothes and showing himself to the cameras and the audience, that’s how Vegard knows he’s feeling bad again, and he should have seen it, should have _known_ when Bård started doing that fucking aerial silk thing that one way or another, it was only going to end in disaster)

 

As though Bård wants this. God, as if he’d ever wanted any of this. At least Vegard had known what he was getting into all those years ago; or at least he’d had an idea of what acting and being in the public eye would mean. He’d been 17 and almost out of school; almost an adult. But Bård had been 14 when he’d started all this, and even if he’d only been acting in school plays it didn’t mean that he wasn’t watched, fuck, hadn’t it been him that had been discovered first? 

 

He was just a kid. He was only 14. And so what if he still had baby fat, he was fucking _fourteen._  

 

He’d never known what he was getting into. Neither of them had, really, but Vegard rolled his eyes and put up with the stupid, old-fashioned cabaret crap and looked ahead, knowing that it would get better. And Bård...hadn’t. He’d been pulled into this world, and hurt from the very start. Pushed around, told what to do, dragged from place to place, made to do all sorts of things whether he wants to or not.

 

Is it really any surprise then that he would latch onto the only thing he _could_ control?

 

And Vegard had the nerve to be _angry_ with him! As though this is somehow Bård’s _fault!_  

 

The rush of shame is like acid in his throat and he thinks for a second he might be sick too. 

 

He’s failed his brother. How long has this been going on? How long has he known about it? Since Norges Herligste, at least. And it started long before that. Why hadn’t Vegard ever said something, done something, told someone

 

( _Why is it always my fault?_ )

 

Just _stopped_ this somehow, before it came down to this. Canceling a show because his brother is puking blood because it’s too goddamn much.

 

Why had Vegard ever allowed this to go forward in the first place. The fucking aerial silks, of all things. Bård had already been hurt once, badly, doing it. Why he _hell_ would he do it again? 

 

(Desperately Vegard had been trying to tell himself _maybe it’s better, maybe it doesn’t hurt anymore_ , and who knows maybe Bård had been trying to tell himself the same thing)

 

When does it end. When can he finally stop worrying.

 

 _Never_ , he realizes with a sudden certain clarity.

 

He looks down at the phone in his hand. It has to stop. They have to cancel. He has to fix this

 

( _Why is it always me?)_

 

Because if he doesn’t, they’re going to end up missing a hell of a lot more than one show.

 

He takes a deep breath to steady himself and rehearse the lie in his head. Food poisoning. Hospital. He’s not doing too well. _We’re going to fix this._  

 

“You didn’t arrive.” Theo’s rough voice greets him without so much as a ‘hello,’

 

Vegard takes a deep breath. “Hi, yeah, Theo, I’m afraid I have some bad news...”

 

~~~

 

Bård knows that Vegard is angry. 

 

There’s a cup of yogurt sitting on the table next to him. Three nurses have come by to check on him, and all three have told him to eat it. 

 

He stares defiantly at the sealed cup. Vegard is angry with him.

 

They’re going to cancel the show.

 

He knows he should be upset. 

 

He isn’t. 

 

He doesn’t know what he’s feeling, but it isn’t relief. Not even a little. The strange lessening of the pressure in his chest is just due to the drugs, nothing else.

 

( _He knows the drugs were out of his system hours ago, but he won’t think about that, he won’t.)_

 

The nurses keep telling him to rest, but he won’t. Not here, not where there are so many people.

 

(And he cringes every time the curtain opens; can’t they see that he just wants to be left alone?)

 

So he closes his eyes and pretends to rest, and wishes for the night to be over

 

(at least until he has to face Vegard again).

 

At some point he dozes off for real, and when he wakes up, there’s a new face sitting in the seat next to the bed. 

 

“Hi, Bård,” the woman says. She’s young and blonde, and wearing a hospital ID badge but no white coat, so he says nothing.

 

“My name is Stine, I’m a doctor here at the hospital.” 

 

He makes a non-comital noise. Maybe if he pretends to be interested, she’ll go away.

 

“I guess you’re not feeling too well.” 

 

“Hm.”

 

“Was there anything you wanted to talk about?”

 

He freezes. “Like what?” he asks, forcing himself to keep his voice steady.

 

Stine shrugs. “Anything you like.” When he doesn’t answer, she continues on. “I understand you’re in the entertainment industry. What’s that like?”

 

Silence.

 

“Doing a show and a stage show at the same time...that must be pretty stressful, huh.”

 

She pauses, then lowers her voice. “You know, it’s okay to feel that way. To be stressed, and upset. And it can be hard when you feel like no one understands.”

 

“And I suppose you think you understand.”

 

“No, I don’t. But maybe if you tell me about it, I can. And I can help you, so you won’t feel like you need to do this anymore. What do you think? Do you want to talk?”

 

Bård glares at her, and then turns over so he’s facing away. He closes his eyes and keeps them tightly shut until he hears her get up and walk away.


	4. Chapter 4

Vegard gets to the hospital at 10:45, after a mostly sleepless night, to find Bård groggy and out of it.

 

He looks at the nurse, who takes him aside.

 

“He got a bit...agitated last night. Around three he had a little panic attack,” she explains discreetly. “We gave him something to help him sleep. It should wear off in a few more hours. Just take him home and put him to bed, and he’ll be fine.” 

 

 _Not even close,_ he thinks, but nods impassively and returns to the room. Bård is at least sitting up and dressed, though Vegard has to help him put his shoes on and actually walk out of the hospital and to the car.

 

Bård actually starts to pick up a little once they’re on their way home. He doesn’t say much, and stares out the window, but Vegard knows he’s fighting with something.

 

“What happened to the show?” he asks at last, quietly.

 

“I cancelled.” 

 

Vegard watches him out of the corner of his eye. He expects Bård to react - to get angry, to yell and say that they can’t do that. But he doesn’t. All he does is nod to himself and keep staring out the window.

 

His hands tighten on the steering wheel involuntarily. _He should be upset_ , his traitorous brain whispers. _Why isn’t he upset?_ And then the thought that he tries to banish as soon as it comes to him: _He did this on purpose._

 

“We’re going to have to make up for it you know,” he continues conversationally. “Theo wasn’t happy. I told him we’d add a couple of extra shows before the end of the run.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“It’s not okay,” he says. They pull into the driveway. “It’s not okay,” Vegard says again. “You have to stop this, Bård. You need help.”

 

“I’m fine.” Bård opens the door and steps out. Vegard turns off the car and steps out as well. “What are you doing?”

 

“You need to sleep. So do I.”

 

“So go home. You’re not sleeping with me.”

 

“I’m sleeping on your couch.”

 

“No you’re fucking not.” Bård unlocks the door and steps through. Vegard grabs it before he can close it and forces his way inside.

 

“I don’t trust you right now,” Vegard says plainly, ignoring the flash of pain and panic across his little brother’s features.

 

“I don’t need need you to babysit me.”

 

“I think you do.”

 

“I just want to be alone.” 

 

“Then go be alone in your bedroom, but I’m not leaving.” 

 

“This is stupid,” Bård mutters, and suddenly Vegard can’t contain himself.

 

“Yes it is stupid! You’re right! This stupid thing you do, it was bad enough when it was just you, but now it’s affecting both of us! When does it end, Bård? When you’re dead?”

 

“That would be too bad for you, you’d have to find a new partner,” Bård shoots back. “Or maybe you’d just go it on your own!”

 

“If this doesn’t stop, I’ll do it anyway! At least I _know_ I can handle it!” Vegard regrets the words as soon as they left his mouth. He freezes, looking down at the floor, unable to meet Bård’s eyes. “I didn’t mean that.”

 

“Right.” Bård’s tone is icy but there’s a faint quaver to it. “You think this is any fun for me?” he says softly, almost as an afterthought.

 

Vegard sighs, feeling like dirt. “No,” he says. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. Look, we’re both tired, let’s just...get some sleep and talk about it tomorrow, okay? We can work this out. We can get through this.”

 

Bård nods, but his voice doesn’t change. “Actually, I’m hungry,” he says, and if possible he sounds even _more_ brittle, and Vegard wonders how long it’ll be til he breaks this time. “I’m getting something to eat.” He turns his back on Vegard and marches into the kitchen. He chooses a banana from the fruitbowl on the counter and peels it and eats it slowly, like he’s concentrating on every bite. 

 

Vegard stands awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what to do now. Bård can’t stand anyone watching him eat, but what else can he do? Besides, he never has a problem with _Vegard_ seeing him.

 

 _He might now,_ he thinks, and the thought is almost too much. There’s a weird, heavy sensation behind his eyes that he fears might be tears, and he looks away before Bård can see.

 

Bård finishes the banana and throws the peel in the trash. “I’m going to bed,” he mutters. “Do what you want.”

 

Bård shuts the door to his bedroom and Vegard sinks onto the couch with a quiet, sad laugh. Do what he wants...he wants to redo this whole conversation. The whole week. The last 10 years. 

 

 _What good would that do?_ he thinks as he lays down on the couch and closes his eyes. _I couldn’t stop it from happening the first time around._  

 

The couch is located centrally, which mean that Vegard has a good view of both the bedroom and the bathroom doors. This time, at least, he can stop it. 

 

~~~

 

Vegard wakes in the late afternoon. The sun is spilling in the window turning everything golden, and for an instant he panics and thinks he’s overslept. Then it all comes crashing back, and he buries his face in the cushion, wishing he could just take it all back.

 

_You think this is any fun for me?_

 

The little statement, muttered so softly. A tiny slip, a peek into his mind.

 

Guilt and shame wash over him. Bård is slowly killing himself, and all he can think of is their careers. 

 

_Worrying for the health of the executioner instead of his innocent victim_

 

The bedroom door is still closed, but he’s suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to see his little brother. He pads over and opens the door as quietly as he can. 

 

Bård is still asleep, half-covered by the blankets. He’s only in his underwear and it’s so painfully clear that he’s too thin; all skin and bones and harsh angles and he can see the line of his vertebrae, almost imperceptibly crooked up his back. His face is half-hidden between the pillow and the drape of his hair, but Vegard can still see the tear tracks on his cheeks. 

 

_What have I done?_

 

Vegard sits down on the edge of the bed. He tries not to make too much movement, but Bård is a light sleeper and he blinks open his eyes, looking around in confusion before settling on Vegard. “What are you doing here?”

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Really?”

 

Bård sits up and pulls the blankets up to cover himself, and Vegard doesn’t think one little action has ever brought him so much relief. “Yes. I’m fine. I didn’t throw up the banana, okay? You can go now.”

 

“No. I need to apologize to you. What I said before --”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Bård says, looking anywhere but at him. 

 

“Yes, it does! I should never have said that.”

 

“You’re right, though. You should find someone else.”

“Never,” Vegard says. “Never, ever. I’d rather cancel a hundred shows than perform without you, Bård. I’d rather never do another show again. That’s why --” He looks away as his eyes well up for real this time. “That’s why you _have_ to do something about this.” He waves his hand vaguely in Bård’s direction. “Because people _die_ from this, and I refuse to lose you to something so stupid as this!”

 

Bård looks away again. “I don’t...I can’t...” His voice breaks, and then he’s launched himself against Vegard’s chest and just holds on as tight as he can. Vegard runs his hand through his hair soothingly until the quiet sobs trail off. 

 

“You’re going to get through this,” Vegard says softly.

 

“It’s not that simple.” Bård sounds exhausted. “You don’t think I’ve tried?” 

 

“I know you have. And I know that something keeps happening. And I think you need help. It’s not a weakness, Bård.”

 

But Bård his gone rigid in his arms, and tries to pull away. “No,” he says, and now he just sounds panicked. “No, no. I can’t. Please, Vegard. You don’t understand.”

 

Vegard sighs. He’d been prepared for this, although he’d been hoping for the best. “You’re right,” he concedes. “I don’t understand. So -- will you make me a deal?”

 

“Like what?”

 

“You don’t have to talk to anyone. In return, you do this by my rules.”

 

“Rules...”

 

“First: you can throw up once per day. Only once. Second: manual methods only, no medicines. And third...you will tell me when you’re going to do it, and I will be there with you when you do.”

 

Bård pulls back, eyes wide. “No,” he says. “Vegard, no. I can’t do that to you!”

 

“Do we have a deal?”

 

“Vegard...”

 

“Deal?”

 

Slowly, Bård nods and places his hand in Vegard’s. They shake once, then Bård throws his arms around Vegard once more and buries his face in his chest, trying to get himself under control.

 

They’re silent, until Bård speaks again in a small voice.

“There was a lady at the hospital who tried to get me to talk,” he admits.

 

“But you didn’t.”

 

“No.” He chokes up again. “I couldn’t, Vegard. I just...I couldn’t. I don’t know why...I just couldn’t.”

 

“That’s all right,” Vegard says soothingly. “Someday, you’ll be ready.”

 

Bård nods and hugs him tighter. Vegard hugs him back and they sit like that for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you all know, I don't condone that solution, and fully support getting actual professional help.


End file.
